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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28758465">Never shall you ask me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnricoDandolo/pseuds/EnricoDandolo'>EnricoDandolo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Frozen (Disney Movies), Lohengrin - Wagner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Vikings, Crossdressing Anna, Elsanna Shenanigans Discord Monthly Contest (Disney), F/F, Marriage of Convenience, naked swordfighting (do not try at home)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:40:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,577</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28758465</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnricoDandolo/pseuds/EnricoDandolo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Elsa Agnarrsdóttir had never minded the cold. It was warmth that made her shiver.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anna/Elsa (Disney)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Elsanna Shenanigans Monthly Contests Submissions</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Never shall you ask me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Some minor notes on Old Norse phonology since people pointed out being distracted by unfamiliar characters:</p>
<p>- the consonant ð is pronounced like the 'th' in 'think'.<br/>- the vowel ǫ is pronounced like the 'ou' in 'thought'.<br/>- the accute accent ´ indicates a long vowel.</p>
<p>I have tried to make sure all Old Norse words and expressions used are intelligible from context.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Elsa Agnarrsdóttir had never minded the cold. It was warmth that made her shiver.</p>
<p>The cold had been her constant companion for as long as she could remember: at first, long days spent by the seashore, waiting for her father’s <em>drakkar </em>to fly into Arnardalr’s harbour laden with riches from foreign lands, ocean breeze tearing at her braid and gown and salt wash speckling her skin. Then, after, silent marches through wintery woods, white as far as the eye could see, with no companion save the darkness and the numbing chill in her bones.</p>
<p>The warmth, though? Loge’s flickering child had danced through the straw and thatch and rafters of her father’s hall like a hungry houseguest as, below, her kinsmen had fallen to the storm of shining battle-flames. The warmth had seared her, marked her for its own. Even now she feared it, for it meant the din of cups and the laughter of men in the feast hall, the company of ravens and the courtesy of wolves.  </p>
<p>Her maidservants shuddered as they stepped out into the cold from the heat of the mead hall and drew their furs closer, but Elsa stood proud and tall as a mast. She breathed in the sea breeze, felt the chill through the fabric of her dress. The guards outside—Hans’s—gave her respectful nods as she passed and fell in after them.</p>
<p>In silence, they proceeded outside the village and climbed the Thing hill, a bare, rocky knoll overlooking the harbour. Her grandfather, King Rúnharðr Rauðskeggr, had erected a runestone there, praising his deeds, but Hans had allowed the painted runes to weather away, so that only faded carvings remained. As the women and their guards ascended the hill, they passed through the crowd that had already assembled for the Thing: housecarls and freemen from all around the valley, some with their sons, wives and thralls in tow, all arrayed in festive garments according to their means. They ringed King Rúnharðr’s runestone like waves in a pond, but made way for them. Some nodded respectfully as she passed. Others—far more—hid their faces and would not look at her.</p>
<p>Jarl Hans Haraldsson, called Hans Suðeyingr, stood at the top of the knoll, leaning on the runestone. Part of Elsa bristled at the desecration, but she knew there was no point in protesting. Hans gave her a wide smile that looked disconcertingly genuine, and one of her companions gasped with barely-veiled delight at the sight. Elsa resisted the urge to scowl at the swooning girl—even she had to admit that Hans was handsome, the very image of a young hero. His flame-red hair and beard were elegantly braided with golden ringlets, his mail shirt merrily glittered in the morning light, and his clothes were richly embroidered with gold and silver thread. His father’s many crowns certainly did not hurt his appeal, even if he was the youngest and least storied of King Haraldr’s many sons. Yes, Hans’s smile had an uncanny ability to make women swoon and fluster, there was no denying it—except, of course, for his betrothed, the woman he had sworn his eternal love a hundred times.</p>
<p>Well, former betrothed. Hans spread his arms as she approached, his smile widening. Elsa scowled at him. She knew better than to be taken in by his smiles and promises. “There she is! I’m glad we did not need to drag you here in chains.” Without paying her any further heed, he looked around. “Men of Arnardalr, you have heard my charge, and I have presented my witnesses. Now hear what she has to say for herself.”</p>
<p>The lawspeaker of the Thing stepped forth from the crowd. She knew Kai Lǫgmaðr well—he had served her father as a housecarl, once. Of course, he had then gone on to serve Hans as a housecarl, but he was not a southerner like the others—a good and loyal man, and wise, just like Gerðr his wife. She thought he cared for her wellbeing, but she had the feeling that would not help her today. “Lady Elsa,” he addressed her darkly, “Jarl Hans has accused you before the Thing of murdering your sister, Anna Agnarrsdóttir, by drowning her in the sea five years ago. How do you respond to the charge?”</p>
<p>Elsa ground her teeth. She had been thirteen when Anna—aged ten—had disappeared. That had been less than a year after the southerners had come. With their parents slain and their foes living in their hall, the sisters had only had each other. They’d been inseparable. <em>Except for that day. </em>Elsa could not even recall why she had been mad at her little sister—something foolish involving Hans, no doubt. She had always resented the way Anna had idolised the son of their parents’ killer for every little kindness he had thrown their way like scraps to his dogs. Some stupid argument had sent her running back to the village while playing in the woods, leaving Anna behind. Her sister had not returned that night, and days of searching had come up with nothing.</p>
<p>Many years, Elsa had held on to the hope that somewhere, somehow, Anna might still be alive. <em>I would have felt it, </em>she had told herself and any who would listen. But as the years passed, this certainty had faded away, leaving only a dull ache and yearning, and the dreams that robbed her of her sleep. They had never found the body, but there were all sorts of danger in the woods for a little girl, from wolves to brigands. It was no use thinking about it—only regret remained: that her last words to Anna had been spoken in anger, and that Anna had never been baptised. Elsa prayed that meant Anna had gone to Fólkvangr’s pleasant meadow, as her parents had taught them, not hell.</p>
<p>“Lady Elsa?”</p>
<p>She startled at Kai’s voice. “I reject the charge,” she then said. “I swear by the Virgin that I am guiltless. Moreover, I accuse Hans Suðeyingr of perjury, and call him a liar.”</p>
<p>A gasp went through the crowd, but Kai nodded. “You have that right. What witnesses do you offer?”</p>
<p>Elsa lowered her head. This was it. “None.” The crowd murmured, and Hans chuckled quietly to himself. “But,” she raised her voice, “I do not need any. I challenge Hans Suðeyingr to defend his lies. Is there anyone here who will brave the holmgang for me?”</p>
<p>The crowd fell silent. She looked around at weathered warriors who had raided with her father and stripling boys who had never held a sword. <em>God, please. </em>“Is there no <em>drengr </em>who will fight for me?” There was no response, and her heart sank. “Hear then how I will reward my champion! He shall take everything my father owned. And—” She swallowed. She knew what she had to say, but that did not make it easier. “And if he pleases, he may take me to wife.”</p>
<p>Still, there was silence. Hans’s hot breath brushed over her shoulder and she shivered. “Sounds like no one wants your frigid little <em>kunta, </em>dear. They know who owns you.” Elsa fought to bite back humiliated tears, wanted nothing more than to draw her knife and stab him. If she was to be killed as a kinslayer, she’d happily take him with her. Even so, she knew he wasn’t wrong—year after year, she had refused one of the most eligible bachelors in Norway. <em>She! </em>An orphan girl from an extinguished clan, a hostage whose use had run out with the passing of the years. Every breath she took, she took at the sufferance of her parents’ killers. Hans, and the lordly bride-price he had promised, was her way out, her way towards a measure of the same liberty every other free woman in Norway took for granted. And yet, she had scorned his proposals, time and time again. People <em>talked</em>.</p>
<p>Silence. Elsa hung her head.</p>
<p>“I’ll fight for her!” The high voice had come from the edge of the crowd, where the thralls and younger sons stood. “Oh, sorry—excuse me—coming through …” Her heart sunk. Then, it leapt, as a vision of her father emerged out of the crowd. No—not her father. Still, for a moment, she had been fooled. The stranger was beardless and scrawny, scarcely fifteen winters under his belt. He had her father’s bright copper hair, though, worn long and gathered in a ponytail at the back, and large, eager turquoise eyes. He was simply-dressed in a green tunic and blue leggings, and had a small axe on his belt and a shield slung around his shoulders. An iron broach in the shape of a swan held his cloak. She had never seen him before.</p>
<p>
  <em>And yet …</em>
</p>
<p>The stranger grinned at her with such obvious enthusiasm she found herself returning a faint smile, even as her heart sunk. <em>No, you fool, </em>she wanted to shout, <em>Hans is going to carve you up like a slab of meat, </em>but no words came across her lips.</p>
<p>“I will fight for you,” he repeated, and took her hand in his. She nearly flinched from the touch, from the warmth of his skin. “But there is something you must promise me first.”</p>
<p>“What?” The question died in her throat.</p>
<p>The grin disappeared. Bright turquoise eyes stared at her, insistent and piercing. His words were like an incantation. “Never shall you ask me, nor trouble yourself to know, whence I have come, nor what my name and clan.”</p>
<p><em>An outlaw, then. A fugitive thrall. </em>She wanted to laugh in his face. She whispered: “I … swear it.”</p>
<p>The stranger beamed, pure bliss in his eyes. “I love you, Elsa,” he blurted out, rushed in and pressed his lips to hers. For a moment, she froze as warmth sent shivers down her entire body<em>. </em>Then, she stumbled, jumped away from the kiss. The stranger seemed mildly embarrassed, but her face—and her lips, and something else—burnt like fire. “Now hear, Hans Haraldsson!” he shouted so all could hear. “Elsa Agnarrsdóttir is without guilt or fault—let it be known to you through Valföðr’s choice!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Later, Elsa could not have said why she had ever underestimated her champion. Hans was a mighty <em>drengr </em>and an experienced viking, true, but the stranger moved with the grace of a cat and attacked with the ferocity of a wolf. Three times they met upon the island, and three times the stranger’s axe cleft deep into Hans’s shield. When the third shield split, the first drops of blood flowed. “Through Odin’s word, your life belongs to me,” the stranger had called out, the blade of his axe at prone Hans’s throat, then helped him up to his feet. “Take it as my gift, and use it well.”</p>
<p>And then it was over.</p>
<p>Even as an outlaw, no one dared lay hands on Jarl Hans or his loyal housecarls, so he quietly left the valley. Part of Elsa wished she had gotten her revenge, but at least this way he was gone. That left the oath she had sworn to save her life.</p>
<p>She barely spoke to her <em>drengr</em> over the next three days as they feasted and drank. The stranger sat at the head of the table, talking to jarls and thegns thrice his age like he had been born to it, while Elsa sat silently at his side, poking at her food. She loathed the heat and smoke of the mead hall. The flickering fire at its centre made her eyes water, while the shouting and laughter of the guests felt like horses galloping through her skull. But every time she caught the eye of her betrothed, he would smile at her, eyes wide and bright, as though she was the most precious hoard in the nine worlds. He would say something, and more often than not it would make her laugh, and by the time another well-wisher or petitioner came up to the high table it was easier to bear.</p>
<p>After three days of feasting, it was time for the ceremonies. Her groom bade her farewell with a chaste kiss as they parted—him heading for the grove, Elsa for the church with the other Christians. It was no more than a brief peck on the cheek, and yet the spot his lips had touched burned for hours afterwards. Was this what it was supposed to feel like? A few boys had tried to kiss her in the past, not the least of which was Hans, but she had always been repulsed and nauseated by the sensation. This was … pleasant. It made her burn, yes, made her body heat up like all the fires of Múspellsheimr were burning in her chest. But maybe, just maybe, the warmth was not all that fearsome anymore.</p>
<p>All warmth fled when she saw Hans Suðeyingr, standing at the front of the church. With clenched fists, she took her place next to him as the priest began his liturgy. “You’re an outlaw, Hans,” she hissed once the sermon had begun. “What in Loki’s name are you doing here?”</p>
<p>Hans gave her a sardonic smile. “I could hardly miss the wedding, could I? I have to say, I didn’t think you’d have it in you. How long have you been letting that thrall boy do you behind my back?” Elsa wondered if God would punish her for stabbing a man to death during Mass. “No matter. Tell me, though, how <em>did </em>he beat me? Did your thrall mother teach you her Finnish <em>seiðr </em>spells, or did you fuck a boar in Vanadís’s name?”</p>
<p>“Maybe you’re just not as formidable as you think,” she hissed back.</p>
<p>He only smiled at that, handsome and infuriating as ever. “We’ll see.” Then: “So, which is he? A thrall or an outlaw? If he were an honest man, he wouldn’t have forbidden you to ask his name.” He smirked. “We wouldn’t want people to think your boy toy had beaten me through magic or trickery rather than God’s judgment. Don’t you think he looks a bit Finnish? Ah, no matter. Just remember when you try to wash away his stench—you could have had a king’s son.” She must have gone pale, for Hans chuckled. “Having second thoughts?”</p>
<p>“Not on your life,” she managed to hiss, even as her chest constricted around the seed of doubt.</p>
<p>Hans only smirked. “Of course not.” The priest gave them a glare. “Ah, but you make me forget the Lord. <em>Pater noster qui es …</em>”</p>
<p>She went through the motions of Mass. Hans left her alone after this, but his words lingered. The stranger—her husband, by day’s end—was a nobody. He might as well be a Finnish sorcerer, though she did not think there was more of her mother’s people in him than in her. He had no allies, no housecarls, no clan that she knew of, nothing but what she brought into the marriage herself. And yet, he had fought like one of the <em>einherjar, </em>and spoke well and gracefully like a jarl’s son. Had his kin fallen prey to a blood feud, like her own? Would his enemies come after him? Whatever the case, she had to know. <em>He’ll tell me once we’re alone. He must.</em></p>
<p>Her groom and the other pagans of the valley awaited them as they left the church, keeping a respectful distance from the churchyard. The stranger, hands and cheek covered in the fresh blood of sacrificial victims, beamed when he saw her, and Elsa’s cheeks warmed. But then, his face fell as Hans stepped from the church behind her, and he hurried towards them. “And here comes your pet,” Hans drawled.</p>
<p>Her champion paid him no mind. “Is he bothering you, Elsa?”</p>
<p>She ground her teeth. “It’s fine. Hans was just leaving.”</p>
<p>Hans gave her groom a pleasant smile, as false as any he had ever shown her. A crowd of spectators, churchgoers and pagans both, had gathered around them. “I merely wanted to congratulate you on the wedding. It is not often a man so young, or so lowly, marries the daughter of a king.”</p>
<p>Her groom’s hand went to his axe, and Elsa was surprised at the hostility in his kind eyes. “You call me lowly, <em>níðingr</em>?” Elsa’s breath hitched. Outlawed or not, that was not an insult Hans could let stand.</p>
<p>But Hans merely spread his arms as if to address the Thing, as if the stranger’s words had been nothing but wind. “I call you a thrall, and a <em>seiðmaðr, </em>who on the holm blunted my axeblade with evil <em>galdrar </em>spells<em>. </em>Men of Arnardalr, you know me as a brave viking and a noble jarl, yet you did not question this stranger’s right to stand against me. You spared him this question before the shield-clash, so now let me ask it before all the people: what is your name, your clan, your rank?”</p>
<p>Part of Elsa felt oddly flattered that the stranger’s eyes immediately shot to her, even as the crowd around them gasped at the allegations. But she could not deny that the question had made her prick up her ears. Would she know her husband’s name after all?</p>
<p>“I need not justify myself to an outlaw and a perjurer,” her groom exclaimed, keeping his eyes on Elsa. She thought she could detect a faint quiver in his voice. “Even were you a king, I would owe you no response. There is but <em>one </em>I must answer. Elsa …” The words died on his lips as he stared at her, pleading.</p>
<p>She could end it all right now. The stranger might have powerful enemies, but she was certain he was nobly born. The judgment of the holmgang would stand. Hans would be still be outlawed, and she would be free of both men, free to—at last—inherit her father’s estate in her own right. The stranger would, no doubt, have to flee his foes, but … she barely knew him. What was he to her? Big, turquoise eyes looked at her, a faint, nervous smile. Warmth rose to her cheeks. She said: “You all saw his good deed and his manly mettle. I trust my—my husband.”</p>
<p>No one had looked at her like that in years, and as Elsa beheld the overwhelming love in his eyes, she felt very strange indeed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then, they were wed.</p>
<p>With the ale-horn emptied, the swords exchanged and her bridal crown removed, the revellers had wasted no time in escorting them to the bedchamber in a flurry of bawdy jokes and flirtatious banter. Her husband gave as good as he got, but by the time they were left on their own in the bridal chamber, Elsa was on the brink of panic. This was the part she had been dreading. The bedding—and the liberties some of the men had taken in relieving her of her outer garments—had not helped matters. She sat on the edge of the bed, decorated with flowers and ribbons, hugging herself despite the heat of the hall, her shoulders pulled almost up to her ears. She was dressed only in a wool shift, and felt naked and small.</p>
<p>Her husband closed the door behind the last of the revellers. Then, he sunk against it and exhaled a sigh. “Alone at last,” he muttered, and turned to look at her. “Elsa …” She retreated further into herself, and he sat by her side, carefully keeping a thumb’s distance from her body. “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever again.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” she murmured. Quietly, she cursed herself—a sane woman would have counted herself lucky to have a husband so considerate, kind, even. This was simply part of the bargain. <em>A sane woman would have taken Hans up on his offer. </em>“Let’s … let’s get this over with, shall we?” That probably wasn’t what he’d been hoping to hear.</p>
<p>Her husband sighed. “Elsa …” Abruptly, he rose and unclasped the swan broach. His cloak dropped to the floor. Next, he unbuckled his sword-belt, placing the weapon she had given him during the wedding by the bedside, and pulled up his tunic … Elsa pressed her eyes shut. She did not need, nor want, to see this.</p>
<p>Eventually, the rustling of cloth ceased. “Elsa,” her husband said. His voice was low, gentle. With her eyes closed, she let her imagination run away with the sound of her name on his lips. To hear it spoken with such love and affection might have made her giddy with delight if it was not her <em>husband </em>speaking it. “Elsa, look at me, please.”</p>
<p>She forced open her eyes. Then, she gasped. Her husband’s body, naked but for a small silver necklace, was toned, every muscle well-defined. More scars were carved on his flesh like battle-runes than befitted one so young.</p>
<p>It was also, quite obviously, womanly. A pair of small, well-formed breasts speckled in freckles sat on her husband’s … wife’s? … chest, and a thin patch of red hair between … her … legs not only drew attention to what <em>wasn’t </em>there, but also made her body tingle. Instinctively, she pressed her thighs together. Her breath hitched. “You … you’re a …” The word died in her throat. A valkyrie? A <em>seiðmaðr, </em>like Hans had said?</p>
<p>“A woman,” her … spouse replied. “Like you.”  The stranger knelt in front of her, took her hands. Elsa tried not to flinch from the touch, even as it sent shivers down her spine. She’d noticed herself reacting in this way to other women’s bodies before, but never with such intensity. No doubt, the solitude of the bridal chamber had heightened her emotions, but … her fear had fled. The heat blossoming within her was scalding, but as familiar and welcome as sunlight on her skin.</p>
<p>“Forgive me,” her naked <em>drengr </em>explained. “I’m sorry for the deception. I meant only to keep you safe, but then, when I saw you …” She bit her lip. “I understand if you’re alarmed, but I promise that I’m not going to touch you. If you like, we can …”</p>
<p>The words fled her lips unbidden, like an evil curse. “What if I want you to?” She shut her mouth and flushed. So did the stranger. God, what a fool she was—maybe if she played it off as a joke? She opened her mouth to respond …</p>
<p>Once more, her <em>drengr</em>’s lips found hers, and her whole body lit on fire.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I … I <em>love </em>… ah!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You look conflicted.” They lay facing each other, their bodies bare, sore and hot. It had been some time since the flood of their passion had ebbed, and it felt as though a sword’s blade lay between them, as each had suddenly grown hesitant to touch the other.</p>
<p>Her <em>drengr </em>bit her lip at Elsa’s question. “I feel like I’ve made a terrible mistake,” she murmured.</p>
<p>Elsa flinched. “I’m sorry,” she muttered in a slight voice and looked away. A cold shiver ran down her naked back; she drew the furs closer as if to hide her nakedness. “I’ve … I’ve never done this kind of …”</p>
<p>“What—oh! No, it’s …” The woman broke off, then gently touched her hand to Elsa’s cheek. “You were perfect. <em>Are </em>perfect. You could never be a mistake, Elsa.” Silently, the woman leant in to kiss her on the brow, then returned to a safe distance on the other side of the bed.</p>
<p>It took a moment before she could dare to look at her <em>drengr </em>again Once more she noticed the freckle right between her lover’s eyes, which she had so enjoyed kissing. The sea-green of her eyes, the subtle pattern of veins on her brow, the cut of her cheeks. She could have drawn them from memory, she knew, like old-familiar worry-runes.</p>
<p>The other woman remained silent, so Elsa reached across to take the small silver hammer pendant dangling from her neck in her hand. Elaborate knotwork decorated <em>Mjǫllnir</em>’s head. She had once owned a similar piece, but it had been reforged into a crucifix after her conversion. “You keep the old gods?”</p>
<p>“As your father did.”</p>
<p>She startled. “You know of my father?”</p>
<p>Her ‘husband’ flushed as though caught in a lie. “I … know men who sailed with Sea-King Agnarr Rúnharðsson. They told many tales of his exploits.” She grinned. “And of his beautiful daughter.”</p>
<p>Elsa hid her red face in the pillow. She was clearly teasing, but still. “My father had two daughters,” she muttered, quietly, then looked once more at her lover. What would Anna look like now, had she lived? It was difficult to square the child she remembered with the woman she might have become.</p>
<p>“It’s strange,” she whispered at last. “When I first saw you, it was like waking from a dream. You seemed so familiar. Like I have seen you every night of my life.”</p>
<p>“Elsa, let’s not … let’s not go there.” Somewhat hesitantly, where before there had been only eagerness, her <em>drengr</em> leant in to kiss her, gentle and chaste.</p>
<p>“I don’t even know what to call you.” Hearing her name on her lips always sent shivers down Elsa’s spine. She wished she could repay that. Sitting up, she looked down at her <em>drengr. </em>“Now that I know you’re a woman …”</p>
<p>“No.” The response fell like an axe-blow. More softly, she added: “I cannot tell you who I am. Just … just know that I am no thrall. I am your equal in every respect. Of noble blood and worthy stock. And I’m no outlaw, either—I come to you from bliss and glory. If King Haraldr himself offered me his crown, I would rightly scorn it.”</p>
<p>Elsa bit her lip as she stared at the naked woman beside her, and knew she believed her. The shieldmaiden’s body was hard and battle-runed, every muscle taut as rope. If she had not felt the warmth of her touch, the heat of her lips on her own skin, she might well have believed her one of the choosers of the slain. <em>My ‘husband,’ the valkyrie.</em> By comparison, Elsa felt weak and mean, lonely and afraid. How long until this victory-maiden would tire of her, the way Hans had, and return to <em>bliss and glory</em>?</p>
<p>She turned away, and icy flames rose in her chest. “Bliss and glory,” she rasped, her voice hollow. “So that’s why you won’t tell me who you are.” Behind her, she could hear the rustling of cloth as the other woman sat up in bed. Outside their bridal chamber, she could make out bright peals of laughter. It seemed a world away. “This is all a game to you, isn’t it? You rush in like a hero, win your fame, take your pleasure … and then, when you grow tired of it, you disappear back to your <em>blissful</em>, <em>glorious </em>home. Isn’t that right? I must seem drab and dull to you. God, how could I be so naïve? How long until you’ll abandon me?”</p>
<p>The <em>drengr </em>jumped up. “Never …”</p>
<p>“Then tell me!” Tears welled in her eyes. Her lover seized her wrists, turned her to face her. She struggled, tore herself free and jumped to her feet. Outside, something shattered. “How can you claim to love me, when you won’t give me even that? How can I trust you’ll stay with me when you won’t even trust me with your name, when every day I’ll live in fear?”</p>
<p>“Elsa, please!”</p>
<p>“Tell me!” Again the <em>drengr </em>tried to reach for her. Elsa stumbled backwards, raised her finger at her. “Tell me your name!”</p>
<p>“Stop!”</p>
<p>“Whence you have come!”</p>
<p>“I beg of you!”</p>
<p>“And what is your clan!”</p>
<p>The woman staggered as if struck by a hammer-blow, collapsed on the side of the bed, hid her face. Elsa lowered her outstretched finger. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. “Tell me,” she whispered. “Please.”</p>
<p>Someone screamed. “The door!” A curse, her <em>drengr </em>nakedly fumbling for the bridal sword—then the door gave way, wood around the lock splintering, and then Hans strode into the room, byrnie, helm and sword gleaming fire-gold and slick with blood, two of his housecarls following close behind. At the sight of the two naked women, he startled, then smirked. “Guess I wasn’t entirely wrong. Don’t interfere—this one’s mine.” Then, he charged. Her <em>drengr </em>brought up her sword just in time to brush aside a vicious cut at her side, and then the fierce blade-storm commenced.</p>
<p>Elsa could not have said how long the fight lasted. Terror’s chill had stilled her bones at the old-familiar steel-chant in her slain parents’ marriage chamber as she watched her <em>drengr, </em>naked and shieldless, pushed further and further back. Saw the face of the woman who had spoken her name with such affection, whose every word breathed balm and honey on her wounds, contorted in fear …</p>
<p>She could not have said what compelled her to do it, nor point to the exact moment that she grabbed the bridal sword’s discarded scabbard. All she knew was that she was not losing this woman, not losing her again. She slammed the wooden scabbard into Hans’s back, hard as she could. He stumbled, and her <em>drengr’s </em>bare blade found its mark. Hans screamed, dropped his sword.</p>
<p>In a single stroke, it was finished.</p>
<p>Nude and bloodied, the woman stood over Hans’s body, breasts heaving with every breath, eyes wild. Her eyes caught Elsa’s, and her wolfish smile was hard, red-hot. Elsa met her eyes, captivated, terrified, entranced.</p>
<p>Then, the spell was broken. Flushing furiously, Elsa scrambled for something to cover herself with, and her <em>drengr</em>—her valkyrie, her avenging angel—turned to Hans’s men, silent in the doorway. “Leave,” she commanded. “And take this outlaw to the Thing hill. Tomorrow, all shall know who slew him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once more, they dragged her out to the Thing hill. This time, it was the woman who but yesterday had lit her world on fire who stood before King Rúnharðr’s stone. Fear, disgust, and grim satisfaction mixed in the faces of the men of Arnardalr as she climbed the bare knoll to meet her ‘husband’. Elsa dared a brief glance at the woman’s face, which was impassive and sombre. “I could refuse Hans,” her <em>drengr</em> said to her, voice flat, “but never you.” She closed her eyes. “Hear then, men of Arnardalr, how I answer my wife’s forbidden question—and hear if I am not your equal in nobility.”</p>
<p>“In a distant land, far across the swan-field’s roar, there stands a fortress which is ‘Jómsborg’ called. Five score ships lie at anchor in her harbour, and a thousand men feast always in her mead hall, who call themselves Jómsvikingar. Of their number, one in ten goes bear-skinned, one in ten wears the skin of Viðrir’s hounds, and one in a score with boar-skin bristles. Each of their ranks is blooded in the sword-din, and many men to Valhöll they have sent. Those who from Jómsborg go a-viking, who fight in foreign fields for fame and fee, bring glory to them all.</p>
<p>“Now hear how I honour my wife’s forbidden question: a Jómsvikingr am I, raised from childhood on. My fathers were Brynjulfr Sløngvandbaudi, who killed Fúlnir Ímisson on Orkneyjar, Engill Rúmfari, who died in Grikkland, and Strut-Haraldr, who taught me manly arts of war. But before that, I was sat on the knee of Styrbjǫrn Ólafsson, known as Styrbjǫrn Sterki, who rules as jarl in Jómsborg.</p>
<p>“When I was aged ten, I was lost in the woods and set upon by three wolves. I grasped a sharp rock with which I slew one and drove off another, but the third would have killed me, had not Styrbjǫrn Sterki found and saved me. He took me to Jómsborg and raised me a Jómsvikingr. I was an orphan girl ere he made me a shieldmaiden, as I am now. My mother’s name was Iðunnr in Finna, who was the freedwoman and wife of my father, King Agnarr Rúnharðsson, but I myself am Anna Agnarrsdóttir called!”</p>
<p>Elsa hung her head, and Anna left as the first snowflakes gently melted on her scalding skin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her breath hung misty in the icy air. Thick snow muffled her footsteps, and yet the lonely figure seated on a fallen tree trunk looked up as she approached. Somewhat hesitantly, Elsa halted.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”</p>
<p>“Me neither,” Elsa confessed. Anna grinned at that and rose, pulled her into a deep embrace. Her body was warm, soft, inviting. “But I am here.”</p>
<p>The snow on the ground creaked under their feet as they gathered their things. “You didn’t bring much,” Anna pointed out. “It’s a long journey to Jómsborg.”</p>
<p>Elsa gave her a faint smile. “I had to pack in a hurry. Besides …” she leant in to kiss her—chastely on the cheek, for now, for all that she was eager to taste the other woman’s lips again. Perhaps with time, she’d be able to wrap her head around this new facet of her relationship with her long-lost sister. “I’ve got my sister back. That’s all I need.”</p>
<p>A cold north wind flew over the holm, tearing through their cloaks, and Elsa shivered. “I ought to have brought more furs,” she said.</p>
<p>Anna smirked at her, and that smirk shone more brightly in the night than Surtr’s sword. “That’s alright,” she said, and took her hand. “I’ll keep you warm.”</p>
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